


Escape

by sneetchstar



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Abbie and Ichabod decide to spend Christmas away from Sleepy Hollow. Trope-y fluff and smut for the 2016 Ichabbie Holidays Tumblr event. Fairly canon compliant up to the Episode We Do Not Discuss.





	1. Chapter 1

“That is _it_! I have _had_ it with this cold _fucking_ weather!” Abbie’s exclamation reaches Crane’s ears through the house. His Lieutenant has just returned from a late assignment with the FBI, during which the temperature plummeted.

He rushes to the kitchen to put the kettle on and warm up a plate of dinner he saved for her, pressing the button on the microwave before going out to greet her. “Lieutenant,” he greets, watching as she yanks her feet out of her boots, glaring at them like they have offended her.

“There is a wind chill of -26 out there right now,” she declares, showing him the weather app on her phone. “And we had to track this idiot, _outside_ , only to find him hiding _inside._ ”

“I am sorry to hear that, Miss Mills,” he says, frowning. “Please, go make yourself comfortable. The heated blanket is waiting for you on the sofa, and I have the kettle on and your dinner in the microwave.”

Some of the tension eases out of her body as she looks up at him. “Thanks, Crane,” she says, deciding to let him take care of her. She pats his arm as she walks past him to the living room.

He hurries back to the kitchen, checking on her food.

“Crane?” she calls. “Can you make me some cocoa instead of tea?”

“Of course,” he answers. “Whatever you wish.”

“What I wish for is a tropical beach and a piña colada,” she says, half to herself.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she sighs, huddling under the blanket.

Crane returns a few minutes later with her dinner and cocoa, then sits beside her on the couch, keeping her company while she eats and then clearing her dishes when she has finished.

“Would you like me to draw you a hot bath?” he asks, concerned about her having caught a chill.

He’s never made such an offer before, and it catches her slightly off guard. “Maybe later,” she says. “Would you hand me my laptop?”

“Certainly,” he says, walking over to the desk and disconnecting the charger. He joins her on the couch again. After a few minutes, he asks, “Are you searching for something specific?”

“I am searching for an escape,” she says. He looks truly puzzled, so she adds, “A getaway. To someplace warm.”

“Oh.”

“We deserve a little vacation,” Abbie says, eyes focused on the screen as she scrolls. “We’re in the post-tribulation lull now that Pandora and her man are gone, so now’s as good a time as any,” she explains.

“We?” Crane repeats the only word he really noted. He had assumed she was looking for a trip to take with Miss Jenny, or, God forbid, Reynolds.

She looks at him. “If you honestly think I’m going anywhere without you after…” She leaves the sentence dangling, and he knows she’s talking about her solo “vacation” in the catacombs.

While he is relieved to hear he is joining her, he can’t help feeling the sting of her pain in his chest over her ordeal. Also, he had rather hoped she was including him because she  _wants_ him along. “Of course,” he replies, managing to keep his voice light.

“Besides, I want to see you on a beach,” she teases, smiling at him. Then she shivers and huddles deeper into the electric blanket, which he tucks around her more securely. “You know where your passport is, right?”

“Certainly,” he replies. “We are leaving the country?”

She doesn’t answer for a second, then says, “Yes.  _Yes._ Oh.” She looks up at him. “You don’t have a problem spending Christmas in the Bahamas, do you?”

“As long as I can spend Christmas with you, it matters not where it is spent,” he answers.

She regards him for a second, then simply says, “Good. Because I just found a hell of a deal.”

xXx

To Abbie’s surprise, Crane is an excellent traveling companion. She half-expected him to get into an argument with the TSA agent, but he was polite and charming not only to Security, but everyone working in the airport.

He also insisted on carrying her suitcase.

He had their flight attendant doting on him in a matter of minutes. Abbie did not want to admit it, but she was feeling a little salty that he was flirting with everyone except her.

She also did not want to admit that she felt a pleasantly warm sensation when he grabbed her hand during takeoff, quietly admitting that he finds the process “fascinating, but quite unsettling”. She squeezed his hand, feeling better with the knowledge that while he may flirt with others, he will only confide in her.

She even relaxed enough to doze on his shoulder for a little while. Crane gently wakes her when they begin their descent into Nassau.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, sitting up and rubbing her cheek.

“It was no trouble,” he assures her. “I simply wished to give you ample opportunity to fully awaken before we land.”

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at him. “Oh, look…” She leans over, looking out of the window, and feels the warmth of him close behind her. “Look how blue.” The water is a bright turquoise, glistening in the sun as they draw closer and closer.

“And green,” he adds, noting the lush growth of palm trees and other tropical plants covering the island. “Lieutenant, it is wonderful.”

“Have you ever been to the Caribbean?” she asks, turning to find his face _right_ there.

“Almost,” he says, backing away a little. “My parents talked of moving to one of the territories here, but Father decided it would be too much of an inconvenience.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Ooohh, that would have been awesome for you,” she says. “But if you _had_ moved, you may not have ever met Katrina.”

“Or you,” he muses, giving her a fond look.

“Well, since we are Witnesses, we probably would still have crossed paths,” she responds with a shrug.

The captain makes a brief announcement, and Crane grabs Abbie’s hand again for the landing.

When they make their way off the plane, one of the flight attendants leans in towards Abbie and quietly says, “You are a lucky woman.”

Abbie replies with a quick, “Thanks… have a good day.” She doesn’t bother correcting the woman’s mistake.

xXx

Crane’s face is glued to the window of the hotel shuttle as they drive to their resort, his eyes taking everything in, occasionally making exclamations about things that interest him.

“Miss Mills! There’s a humongous ship out there!”

“You had that plant in a pot at home… before I inadvertently killed it… and there it is, growing in the ground like a common boxwood!”

“Oh! Those are broken seashells… I thought it was gravel at first…”

Abbie simply smiles at him, enjoying this carefree Ichabod Crane.

They reach their resort and are pleased to discover only one other party checking in before them.

“Hi, we have a reservation under Mills,” Abbie tells the woman at the desk when they walk up.

“Yes, here we are,” she replies. She looks at the screen. “Oh, you qualify for a free room upgrade,” she says.

“How’d we manage that?” Abbie asks, trying to remember if she saw anything about that, but she booked so quickly, she probably didn’t read as much of the fine print as she normally would have done.

“It’s from the website you used,” the woman answers. “You booked the basic room, but I can upgrade you to pool view for free. Or, for $50 more, I can give you ocean view.”

“Is that $50 total or per night?” Abbie asks.

“Total.”

Abbie looks at Crane, who is standing right behind her but looking around, studying every detail in the lobby, which is currently decorated for Christmas. “Sure, why not?”

“Hmm?” he asks, thinking she was asking him a question.

“I’m upgrading our room,” she answers. “We’re getting an ocean view.”

“Very good,” he replies, clearly trusting her to handle the details.

The receptionist gives them their key cards and towel cards, then asks for Abbie’s left wrist. She holds it out and the woman places a wristband on it. “Sir?”

“Crane, she needs your wrist,” Abbie says, tapping his left arm.

“Whatever for?” he asks, but offers his arm nevertheless.

“It’s for security. So they know you are staying here at the resort,” Abbie says.

“Ah,” he replies.

“Enjoy your stay,” the receptionist says, then gives them directions to their room.

“Thank you, my good woman,” Crane replies, slightly bowing, then goes to retrieve their suitcases.

They walk for what seems like a very long time, but eventually reach their room, on the fourth floor, at the end of the hallway. Along the way, every hotel employee greets them with a smile, and one man even tells them the quickest way to the beach from their room.

Abbie opens the door and Crane holds it for her, letting her enter first.

She stops, staring at the room, while Crane walks straight through to the huge sliding glass doors. He opens them and steps onto the balcony.

“Miss Mills, this is glorious,” he says, staring out over the ocean.

“Crane,” she says, walking out to join him.

“Look how beautiful it is. And not a snowflake in sight,” he says, then turns to look down at her. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, momentarily forgetting what she was going to tell him. “This is nice.” She closes her eyes and turns her face towards the sun, letting the warmth seep into her skin.

“I don’t think ‘nice’ is quite the correct word,” he quietly says, allowing himself to openly gaze at her since her eyes are closed.

She opens her eyes to find herself staring up into his. Time slows down for a second and she tries not to remember Betsy Ross declaring to whom Crane’s heart belongs. Those words – and the fact that he did not deny it – have been haunting her for weeks. “There’s only one bed,” she blurts.

He finally looks inside. “Oh, dear,” he says, walking back in. “I shall sleep on the floor,” he decides.

“Don’t be silly,” she protests, waving her arm at the bed. “It’s a king-sized bed, and I’m really small. We can both sleep there and never run into each other at all.” As the words come out of her mouth, she realizes she’s not sure if she wants to _not_ run into him if they share a bed _._

He purses his lips. “I shall… consider it,” he allows.

“It’s not _improper_ or anything,” she reassures him. “Besides, what is sleeping in the same bed compared to my spirit _willing_ yours to come back from being lost in the catacombs, right?”

His eyebrow twitches. “I suppose you do have a point,” he allows. In truth, he would very much like to share a bed with his partner, but sleeping is second or third on the list of preferred activities in which to participate there.

“You know I do,” she says, trying to sound braver than she feels. _I just insisted we sleep together; what the hell?_ “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he answers, relieved to be off the topic of sleeping arrangements.

“Great. Let’s change clothes, get some lunch, then hit the beach,” she says, opening her suitcase.

“Change? You mean into those… _swim trunks_ you insisted I must have?” he asks, eyeing his own suitcase like it is Pandora’s box. It is filled with modern clothing, as Abbie insisted he would be more comfortable if he temporarily adapted. He relented, but is now beginning to regret his decision.

“Yes. You can wear a shirt with it, but I did not scour Amazon in December looking for trunks for you so you can go to the beach in _trousers_ ,” she says, waving her hand at his legs. She takes her suit and cover and disappears into the bathroom.

xXx

Lunch eaten and towels claimed, Abbie and Crane find a couple of empty lounge chairs on the beach. It is sunny and in the low 80s, with a light, warm breeze.

“This is _so_ much better than the Arctic temperatures at home,” she says, spreading out her towel.

“I must say, I completely agree,” he says, neatly smoothing his towel over his chair as well. “And I must also say I have noticed a distinct upturn in your mood, though we have only been here a few hours.”

Abbie sits and pulls a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag. “Come here and take your shirt off,” she instructs.

“I beg your pardon?” She waggles the sunblock at him and he sighs. “Must I remove my shirt?”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to, but you still need sunblock on that pale English skin, my man,” she says.

He lightly huffs and sits, taking the bottle from her, watching as she takes out another bottle. “You are using a different one?”

“I don’t need SPF 50,” she says, smoothing it on over her skin.

He stares, transfixed, watching her small hands glide over her skin. He’s never seen such flawless skin before. Even Katrina, with her porcelain complexion, had a few freckles and showed the beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes near the end. But Abbie’s skin is the softest, smoothest he’s ever seen and had the privilege to occasionally touch (in the most respectful way, of course). He forgets to continue applying his own sunblock as his fingers twitch with the memory of caressing her arm and holding her hands when he returned from retrieving her from the Catacombs.

“Earth to Crane,” Abbie says, snapping him out of his reverie. She saw him watching her and suddenly started having second thoughts about wearing the two-piece suit straight away. But she needs him to put sunblock on her back.

“Oh. Yes. Forgive me; I was lost in thought,” Crane stumbles over an awkward apology. “Must be tired from traveling; we were up quite early this morning.”

“Are you awake enough to put some of this on my back for me?” she asks, trying not to sound as anxious as she feels about having those giant mitts of his running all over her back.

“Of course,” he replies, instilling more confidence into his voice than he feels. He takes the bottle from her.

Then she stands, removes her swim cover, and sits in front of him on his lounge chair. She can’t bring herself to look at him.

His mouth goes dry as he unsuccessfully tries to not gape at her. But there is so much of her to see that he cannot help it.  _My God, I can die a happy man just staring at the bare skin of her back_ , he realizes, taking in the graceful lines of her shoulder blades and her delicate spine leading down to the enticing swell of her backside. He takes a deep breath, squirts some sunblock onto his hand, and rubs it between his palms to warm it before touching her.

Abbie waits, holding her breath. She can’t see him – won’t look at him – but she can feel the tension radiating off of him.

His hands are tentative, gentle, and moving with a surety that he does not feel. He bites back his groan and makes sure he is sitting in such a way that will disguise anything that may  _arise._ He doesn’t say anything; whatever words he may think to say die before they can escape. As his hands move lower, his anxiety grows. His fingers quickly skate along the edge of her suit bottoms, the bright blue material contrasting with her brown skin, taunting him.

“There we are,” he quietly says.

“Thanks,” she whispers, then quickly returns to her own chair. She fumbles for her sunglasses, needing to hide her eyes before they give away how much having his hands all over her back affected her. She’s had occasional, fleeting thoughts about those hands in the past, but now she knows those thoughts will no longer be occasional or fleeting. She quickly puts sunblock on her legs, then settles back onto her chair and sighs.

“Are you not going to swim?” Crane asks, handing his bottle back to her.

“Not at the moment,” Abbie answers. “Right now, I’mma just sit here and be a blob in the sun. I want to enjoy doing nothing.”

“In that case, I will join you,” he says, settling back. He crosses his legs at the ankle and laces his fingers together over his stomach.

“Jeez, Crane, at least take your shoes off,” she says, giggling.

He makes a noise, then toes off the canvas loafers to which he agreed (after firmly declining the sandals), flipping them onto the sand. “Happy?” he asks.

“Just want you to be comfortable,” she says.

“In that case, you should have let me bring my boots and coat,” he protests.

She looks over the top of her sunglasses at him. “Seriously?”

He pauses, looks at her, his eyes lingering over her navel for a second, then looks out over the ocean. “No,” he relents. “I will thank you for not choosing swimwear such as  _that_ ,” he says, indicating a man walking past in Speedos, “for me.”

“Hey, I’m honestly amazed you agreed to the trunks,” she says. “Nice legs though.”

“What? Oh. Thank you?” he replies, baffled. “I do have rather shapely calves, don’t I?” he asks. She laughs, and he smiles. “That is not a sound of which I hear enough.”

She looks at him. “Really? That’s a pretty interesting statement considering I almost  _never_ hear you laugh.”

“Well, I am afraid my life has had very little mirth,” he says with a sigh. “Not to imply that yours has been a… joyride… since I know it definitely has not.” He looks down at her. “But yes. You are right. I am rather morose a great deal of the time.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she says. “And I wouldn’t go so far as to call you ‘morose’. Serious, yes, and occasionally… cantankerous,” she explains. “And while I wouldn’t have you any other way, I’m just saying that it might be good for you to… unclench your sphincter and let loose once in a while.”

He blinks at the sentiment, then regroups. “Well, what are spontaneous vacations for, if not the unclenching of sphincters?”

Abbie laughs again, drawing the attention of a man selling drinks served in hollowed-out coconuts.

“Ah, thirsty work, making your woman laugh like that,” he says, walking over. He holds aloft a coconut. “Am I right, Boss?”

“She’s—”

“How much?” Abbie asks, cutting Crane off before he can correct the man.

“For a beautiful woman like yourself, $10,” he answers.

Crane clenches his jaw, biting back his response to the exorbitant cost, while Abbie digs into her bag, knowing full well she has no cash.

“Shoot; we didn’t bring any money down,” she says. “We’ll catch you another time, I promise.”

The man gives her a sideways look. “All right. Next time, you come see me and I’ll make you the best Bahama mama on the beach.”

“I believe you expressed interest in having a piña colada, did you not?” Crane asks Abbie.

“Well then, I can make you the best piña colada on the beach,” the man insists, undeterred.

“Next time,” Abbie says, chuckling, as she waves him off.

“You keep a close eye on this one, Boss. She looks like she belongs here on the island and you don’t want to lose her to some smooth-talking local,” he says to Crane.

“Oh, such as yourself?” Crane counters. “I assure you, I have every confidence that my beautiful companion will be returning home with me.”

The man laughs and says, “That must be why you’re the boss, Boss.”

Crane raises an eyebrow and counters, “If anyone is ‘the boss’, it is her.”

“Don’t I know it,” the vendor agrees while Abbie laughs again. Then he finally walks away, shouting the names of drinks, coconut held aloft.

“I’m going to check out the water. You coming?” she says.

“I will let you scout ahead,” he replies.

“Suit yourself.” She gets up and walks to the water.

Crane watches her, feeling like a bit of a creep. The sway of her hips is hypnotic as she walks away from him. He sees other people noticing her and feels a wave of jealous protectiveness, willing them to stop ogling  _his_ Lieutenant.

He also ponders how she didn’t allow him to correct the drink vendor when he assumed they were a couple. And she didn’t correct the flight attendant, either. He knows he was not meant to hear the woman’s comment, but he did.  _Perhaps she simply wishes to spare them the discomfort of making an incorrect assumption._ He watches the waves splash around her thighs as she stands, simply looking out over the ocean. She turns around and waves at him. He waves back.  _Perhaps she enjoys people thinking we are a couple. It is an understandable and honest assumption; we are rather close and do often behave like partners in more than one sense._

Crane sees a man slowly approaching her, and he is up and walking before he even realizes it. He wades in beside her, and when she beams up at him, he decides that small matters like bare legs and sunblock are definitely worth seeing her so happy.

He also sees the potential suitor scowl and change direction, which makes him stand a little straighter.

“I must say this is much nicer than the beaches in England,” he allows. “The water is warmer, for starters. And bluer.”

“Good,” she declares. Then a larger wave jostles her, and she loses her balance. “Whoa.”

He reflexively reaches for her, wrapping his arm around her while catching a flailing hand with the other. “ I’ve got you,” he says, steadying her.

“I know.”

xXx

Crane eventually grew restless on the beach doing nothing, so they decide to go back inside, visiting the lobby to make some dinner reservations for the week.

They relax and shower before dinner, then wander around the resort after, getting their bearings.

“I like that this resort isn’t gigantic,” Abbie says, unthinkingly taking Crane’s arm as they walk. “Some of these places are huge.”

“Really? I think it is quite large, but of course my basis for comparison is slightly different,” he replies.

“Did you see those big buildings off in the distance to the northeast while we were on the beach?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“That was another resort. A _giant_ one,” she says. “It’s not all-inclusive though, so I bet it’s hella pricey to stay there.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. He felt strange leaving the table without paying at dinner, especially after a three-course gourmet meal, but Abbie assured him that they _did_ pay, just all at once. He still felt a bit uncomfortable, but decided he may just need more time to get accustomed to it.

“We should look at some activities to do while we’re here,” she says after a bit. They are gradually making their way back to the room.

“Activities? I thought you simply wished to be a ‘blob in the sun’ all week,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Well, an _entire_ week of that might get a little boring,” she allows. “Especially considering how active we normally are.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “There were pamphlets in the lobby. I saw them when we were checking in,” he adds, unlocking the door and opening it for Abbie.

“We’ll check them out tomorrow. I’m beat,” she says.

xXx

It’s more awkward than Abbie thought it would be, yet somehow easier than it should have been. Sliding into bed beside Ichabod Crane, her Witness partner, her best friend.

He agreed to leave his long nightgown at home and sleep in soft shorts and a t-shirt instead because they take up less space in his suitcase. Abbie is wearing a tank top and shorts, and her hair is wrapped up. He’s seen her like this at home; the fact that they have been roommates all year does seem to help with some of the strangeness.

“Do you want to watch TV for a bit?” she asks, looking over at him.

“I prefer to read,” he replies, indicating his book, “but if you wish to watch, it will not bother me.”

“Okay,” she says, then starts flipping channels, looking for something to watch. She settles on a nature documentary about giraffes, and makes herself comfortable.

She doesn’t know exactly when Crane eased the remote out of her hand and turned the television off, but when she wakes for no reason in the middle of the night, the room is dark and silent. And Crane is sleeping peacefully beside her, one hand carelessly flung over her hip.

She leaves it there and goes back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Crane wakes up to find Abbie in his arms, cuddled against him, quite contentedly sleeping. He freezes, torn between indulging this small slice of bliss and quietly slipping out of bed to spare her the awkwardness of waking and finding herself there.

He closes his eyes, consciously committing the feel of her body against his to memory, then very gently untangles himself from her and exits the bed.

She is still asleep when he emerges from the bathroom, so he takes his book and goes out to the balcony.

The resort is mostly silent, with only a few people milling about, mainly workers. He sees a man skimming the pool off to his right, but the best sight (apart from his Lieutenant sleeping inside) is the ocean in front of him. He watches the waves for a while, enjoying the cool morning breeze and the seagulls riding the air currents.

Motion catches his eyes below and he looks down to see a cat silently padding along beside a low hedge. He smiles, wondering if the cat is welcomed by the resort or not.

 _Likely, since it would help keep the vermin population down,_ he decides, thinking of the cats they allowed to live in the stables of his childhood. Then he frowns, remembering that he named them and how it made his father cross.

“Crane?” Abbie’s voice breaks into his reverie, and he turns to see her, looking sleep-rumpled and adorable, tiny bare toes curling on the cool cement of the balcony. He hadn’t even heard the door slide open. “What are you doing out here, frowning?”

“I did not wish to wake you and decided to come out here and read,” he explains.

“Hmm,” she replies, pointedly looking at the closed book sitting on one of the chairs.

“I became distracted by the view,” he explains. “There is a cat,” he points.

“Two cats,” she comments, coming forward to lean over the rail and look. “That’s pretty common down here. I went to Jamaica once… seems like a lifetime ago… and there were cats around the resort there, too.”

“With whom did you travel to Jamaica?” he asks, eyebrow rising.

“Mind your business,” she says, ruefully smiling at him. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” She turns away and heads back inside, realizing she slept better than she has in a long time.

xXx

The days pass too quickly. They lounge on the beach, they snorkel, they drink overpriced rum beverages from coconuts. They participate in holiday karaoke one night in the lobby bar, singing a hilarious, gender-swapped version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” that earned them a standing ovation.

They also go out, leaving the resort to shop in the downtown area and gape at the gigantic cruise ships docked there. They visit several marketplaces, where at least four people offer to braid Abbie’s hair (and two offer to braid Crane’s). They buy cheap souvenirs and a few pricier ones, things for Jenny and Joe and the soon-to-arrive little one that took them all by surprise. They splurge on a dolphin encounter.

Each night, they go to bed, staying on their own sides, and each morning, Crane wakes up with Abbie in his arms. He always rises first, always slipping away before she wakes.

Then one morning, she protests. “Stay,” she mumbles, and he thinks she may be talking in her sleep. He attempts to move again, and she tightens her hold and repeats herself, clearer. “Stay.”

“Very well,” he rumbles, lying as still as a statue, afraid that if he moves, his traitorous body will begin to act of its own volition.

“You always leave me,” she says, her eyes still closed.

“I… I’m sorry?” he answers, still not completely certain she’s fully awake.

“You’re very comfortable,” she adds, snuggling closer, then sighing.

 _Has she been consciously moving into my arms every night?_ he wonders. He had been thinking it a little strange that she wound up there every night for the past four nights. “I was afraid you would be… unhappy to find yourself ensconced in my embrace,” he admits. “It was my feeble attempt to prevent any awkwardness.”

“You help me sleep better,” she says, finally opening her eyes. “I haven’t slept this good… ever.”

“Oh,” he replies, bravely reaching up to trace her jaw with his fingers. Their eyes lock for a long moment, each wondering what this means or if they should do something about it. “It is Christmas Eve,” he finally says.

“Oh! It is!” she exclaims, sitting up. She scoots out of bed and rummages in one of the drawers where she has been keeping her clothes.

He immediately misses the warmth of her small body, but is soon distracted by her return, bearing a small package.

“What is this?” he asks.

“I can’t wait any longer,” she says, handing it to him. “Merry Christmas, Ichabod.”

He takes the package, pondering it. It is small, easily fitting in one hand, but has weight to it. “Whatever could this be?” he wonders, particularly intrigued by her excitement over the gift. Then he opens it to find a gold pocket watch inside. A very familiar looking pocket watch. He opens it and reads the inscription. _To my Ichabod, on the occasion of your 18_ _th_ _birthday, 18 August, 1769. With love, Mother._ “Abbie…” he looks up, tears in his eyes. “How…?”

“Jenny spotted it in an antique shop,” she answers. “She damn near died when she saw the inscription. And since you are the only Ichabod we know and the birthday was correct…”

“Oh, Lieutenant, you have no idea what this means to me,” he says, leaning forward and pulling her to him in a tight hug. “This was the one item from my former life I truly missed, and you have returned it to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she answers. “Jenny was helping me look for an antique pocket watch for you, but when she found _yours,_ she immediately called me. I knew I had to get it.”

“I do hope it was not too dear,” he says, finally releasing her. He wipes his eyes, unashamed of his tears.

“Jenny can be very persuasive. Plus, the guy owed her a favor,” she says. _I would have taken out a second mortgage on the house to get that watch._

“Of course,” he says, smiling, running his fingers over the surface of the watch. He turns it over and points out a small dent in the case. “I fell off of my horse,” he says. “Landed right on it. Left a circular bruise right here.” He points to his side, chuckling.

“Isn’t 18 a little old to be falling off of a horse?” she asks.

“Not if the horse in question was an easily spooked, ill-tempered idiot who had a particular dislike for rabbits,” he answers. “Gunpowder was his name, and he was just as volatile.”

Abbie laughs, but it suddenly stops when Crane drops a kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you, Abbie. I cannot express my gratitude in mere words,” he quietly says. Then he takes his turn to dash out of bed and retrieve the gift he brought along to give her.

“What is this?” she asks, parroting his earlier question.

He simply raises an eyebrow at her, and hands her a small box.

 _This looks like jewelry_ , she thinks, wondering what he is up to. She unwraps and opens it to find a simple amethyst pendant on a chain. “Oh, Crane, it’s beautiful, but… it’s too much,” she says. “You shouldn’t buy me jewelry,” she very quietly adds.

“It is not too much, I assure you,” he protests, clearly prepared for her reaction. He pauses for a second, then adds, “It is very important to me that you accept and wear this gift, Abigail.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed at his earnest, serious demeanor. “Crane? What’s going on?”

“This amulet,” he says, gently lifting the box from her hand, “is amethyst. I acquired it from the Shawnee shaman, Frank. It will protect you… it keeps away negative energy and encourages inner strength.”

Her brows furrow, unsure how she feels about this. She knows she went through an ordeal – is still recovering from it, if she is honest – but an amulet? Then she sees Crane’s face and the pain he is finally allowing her to see. Pain and concern for _her._

“I cannot lose you again, Abbie,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“ _Abbie, no!” Crane yelled, watching as Abbie stepped up to the open box, ready to sacrifice herself – again – for them. For their cause._

_Without thinking, he bolted towards her, tackling her to the ground. A gunshot sounded. There was a shriek and an explosion. He stayed put, covering her with his body, protecting her._

“ _Abbie!_ _Crane!” Jenny called once the dust settled a bit._

_Abbie pushed him off of her, and he stared down at her, his expression clouded with anger._

“ _Not again. I will not allow it,” he emphatically said._

_She wisely chose not to reply, simply patting his chest in a reassuring manner before looking at Jenny. “What happened?”_

“ _I made the shot of a lifetime,” Jenny said, coming towards them, waving her pistol in the air. “Winged the corner of the box, which spun it so it was facing Pandora instead. It took her soul as its sacrifice instead of yours.”_

“ _Well done, Miss Jenny,” Crane sighed._

“ _Well done yourself, Ichy,” Jenny replied. “Thanks for stopping my sister from being stupidly brave again.”_

“I had no idea it affected you so much,” she quietly replies, taking the amulet back. “I’m sorry, Crane, but you know the mission—”

“I do. Our mission is always first priority. But we cannot fight if we are _dead_ , Abbie,” he says. He watches as she lifts the necklace out of the box and offers it to him. He takes it and she turns, allowing him to fasten it around her neck. “As you once said: There is always another way. And you are too important to go diving head first into danger without a second thought!” His voice raises at the end, nearly shouting. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, his voice softer now.

Abbie is quiet for several minutes. She looks down at her necklace for some of that time, then looks at Crane. Her time away in the Catacombs plus her almost-sacrifice took a massive toll on her, effectively preventing her from being able to see how deeply it affected him. She knows he understands; he encouraged her more than anyone to take care of herself so she could recover, choosing to put aside his own trauma to help her. And now he is making one small, simple request, and she knows she cannot refuse him. “You don’t need to apologize,” she says. “You’re right. I can’t fight if I’m dead. And if it’s important to you that I wear this, I will. It’s beautiful and I appreciate the thought and effort you made in choosing it for me.”

“But you do not believe it will protect you,” he says.

She lifts the stone, looking down at it again. “There’s always another way,” she whispers, then looks up at him. “I let myself become obsessed with a _symbol_ , Crane,” she reminds him, as if he could forget. “I watched a man I consider my brother turn into a wendigo, recover, turn back, and begin to learn to control that power. I have fought banshees and pied pipers and a Headless Horseman. I time-traveled. I have been to an alternate dimension – twice – and returned.” She sighs. “I have seen too much weird shit for _this_ to be the thing I choose to disbelieve. Thank you.”

Then she does something that surprises them both. She leans forward and kisses him on the lips. Just one chaste kiss of thanks.

Before he can react, she slips away to the bathroom.

 _Why did you kiss him?_ she asks herself while she gets ready for a day of relaxing on the beach. A day that she hopes won’t be too awkward.

xXx

Their mood is decidedly more subdued at first, but the awkwardness gradually fades as they settle in on the beach. Crane reads his book and actually takes his shirt off, prompted by the unusually warm day, thus necessitating Abbie to apply sunblock to his back.

“Damn, I could use a paint roller to do this,” she says.

“What was that?” he asks.

“You’re much more broad-shouldered than I realized,” she answers, sweeping her hands across his back.

“Perhaps the problem lies with your undersized hands,” he returns, smirking down at her.

She lightly slaps his back, then squirts more sunblock on her hand. “You better come out from under this umbrella for all this work I’m putting in,” she says.

“I may dip my toe,” he comments. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, wiping her hands on his towel. “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”

“Just some water, thank you,” he says. He allows himself to watch her walk to the bar in the outdoor cafe. She is wearing a one-piece swimsuit today, but it is no less attractive than the other. Especially given the high-cut legs, which give him a _very_ nice view as she walks away.

When she returns, he is reading again, so she picks up her own book and joins him for a bit.

Some time later, the sun simply becomes too hot, even with the umbrella shading their heads, and Abbie declares, “I’m going in the water.”

“I think I shall join you,” he says, setting his book aside.

They walk to the water, wading in. To Abbie’s surprise, Crane dives into the waves, submerging himself for so long that she starts getting nervous. His head emerges a distance away, and he turns, looking around until he finds her, then waves.

She shakes her head at him, admiring his well-formed chest. His arms could use a little toning, but he isn’t as scrawny as he appears when clothed. She moves a little further in, gradually acclimating to the cool water, watching Crane dive and emerge a few times. At one point, he comes up with a good-sized shell, which he holds up to show her, then throws back in.

He makes his way back to her, salt water dripping from his beard. “Lieutenant, it appears that it grows quite shallow again out there.” He points towards an outcropping of rocks just in front of the buoy line roping off the swimming area. “I believe this entire area does not get much deeper than five feet.”

“If you want to go check it out, go ahead,” she says.

“Come with me,” he invites, holding out his hand.

“What? No.”

“Come on,” he goads, waggling his fingers. “I do not wish to go alone.”

She can’t resist his puppy dog expression, and slaps her hand into his with a sigh. “All right. But if it gets too treacherous, we’re turning right back around.”

“Miss Mills, there are _teenagers_ climbing on those rocks,” he huffs, pulling her along with him.

After about 20 yards, the water becomes too deep for Abbie. She is bouncing on tiptoe and not having a good time. “Crane,” she says, “I can’t…”

He pulls her closer and encourages her to cling to his back. “Hold on, Lieutenant,” he says. “I will see you there safely.”

“Mush,” she commands, wrapping her arms around his shoulders but letting her legs trail behind. But by the time they reach the sandbar, they have somehow moved around his waist and he is carrying her piggy-back style.

Crane straightens his legs and Abbie finds herself almost completely out of the water. “I believe it is shallow enough for you here,” he says. The water is only as high as his waist.

She releases him and stands, looking back at the beach. “This is cool,” she declares.

“Indeed,” he agrees.

They linger there for a bit, watching a cargo ship float along the horizon. They decide against checking out the outcropping of rocks when Crane determined that it gets deep again before they reach them. Plus Abbie didn’t want to scratch up her bare feet on the sharp rocks.

When they decide to head back to shore, Crane kneels down, presenting his back to Abbie for her to climb on. “Your chariot, my lady,” he says. She laughs and wraps her arms and legs around him again.

As he walks them back, she can’t help wondering what it would be like to be wrapped around his _front_ this way.

xXx

Abbie showers before bed, intentionally taking longer than necessary, trying to prepare herself for sharing a bed with Crane after she kissed him that morning.

Dinner was quiet and casual, just in the buffet tonight. Being Christmas Eve, most of the other guests were dining at the fancier restaurants in the resort, which is precisely why they decided on the buffet option. To their credit, they had available options for traditional holiday dinners from several different cultures.

Abbie stands under the hot water, remembering how she kept noticing Crane’s eyes on her. _Is this new behavior or have I simply not noticed before?_ she wonders. She is mostly surprised to discover that she didn’t mind it. In fact, she rather liked it.

Which is part of why she is hiding in the shower.

But when he knocks on the bathroom door to inquire if she is all right, she decides she has probably been in there long enough. She turns off the water and steps out.

As she rubs lotion into her skin, all she can think about is how Crane’s hands feel when they apply sunblock to her back.

When she finally emerges, she gets into bed, intending to stay on her side tonight. Determined. But she finds herself tossing and turning.

“Abbie.” Crane’s voice is soft in the darkness.

She stills and looks over at him to see his arm raised in invitation. She knows she can refuse or accept without consequence or judgment, and that fact alone prompts her to scoot into his embrace.

She immediately relaxes against him, and the last thing of which she is aware is the soft press of his lips on her forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

It rains on Christmas Day, and they sleep in longer, too cozy to be bothered with getting out of bed early.

They are a little unnecessarily decadent about it, even ordering room service (one of the few things that does come with a fee) for brunch and eating it in bed. When Crane begins feeding Abbie grapes, she decides she had better get out of bed before they don’t ever make it out.

Alone in the bathroom, she second-guesses her decision to leave.  _What’s wrong with letting him pamper you? Let the man take care of you a little; what’s it going to hurt? He clearly enjoys it, and so do you if you’d only admit it. Stop being so stupidly afraid of your feelings._

She changes clothes, dressing comfortably because the weather report said that the rain was not going to stop any time soon. They had planned on staying around the resort today anyway, because most places will not be open, but now they’ll probably have to stay inside.

When she emerges, he is dressed, but heads into the bathroom to take his turn. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, leaning against the counter. He hangs his head, letting it drop between his shoulders, wondering how much longer he’ll be able to keep his ever-growing feelings for her contained. Each day he thinks he cannot love her more, and each day he discovers he is wrong.

_Get it together, man. We only have two more days._

He takes a deep breath, brushes his teeth, splashes some water on his face, straightens his shoulders, and exits the bathroom.

“Shall we see how Christmas is celebrated in a resort in Nassau, Miss Mills?” he asks.

xXx

It turns out that Christmas in a resort in Nassau is quite festive. There are live musicians playing and planned activities happening in various places.

Abbie and Crane peruse the activities, but nothing strikes their interest strongly enough to make them want to go and participate.

Instead, they walk towards the back of the lobby where there is an open area set up with comfortable chairs and small tables, and there’s a Starbucks counter at one end. They sit quietly and watch the rain for a bit.

“I have always enjoyed the rain,” Crane says.

“Beats snow,” Abbie comments.

“Indeed,” he agrees. “But the rain also has a feeling of renewal to it, as though it is cleansing the earth to start fresh again.”

“That’s rather biblical,” she says.

He chuckles. “I suppose,” he allows with a shrug. “‘And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, and every man: All in whose nostrils _was_ the breath of life, of all that _was_ in the dry _land_ , died. And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah only remained _alive_ , and they that _were_ with him in the ark. And the waters prevailed upon the earth a hundred and fifty days.’ Genesis, chapter 7, verses 21-24.”

“Well, that’s cheerful,” she says after a pause. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Crane laughs then, a full, true laugh, that takes Abbie completely by surprise. A few other heads turn as well, but he pays them no mind, his eyes only ever noticing his Lieutenant.

She joins his laughter, leaning against him as she does so. “So that’s what it takes to get you to laugh, huh?” she finally asks. “You’re an odd one, Crane.” His eyebrow merely quirks upwards, and she adds, “But that’s one of the things I love about you.” Before he can react to her words, she sees a worker bringing a stack of board games out of a closet and setting them out on a table. “Oh! They have a chess set!” she exclaims and hurries away to snag it before anyone else does.

Crane smiles as he watches her, then moves their chairs so they are on either side of the small bistro table at which they were sitting.

When she returns, she notices him wistfully looking towards the small Starbucks. “I’ll set this up; you go get us something,” she says, giving him a smile.

Now it’s her turn to watch him walk away, and she can’t help noticing how the cut of his modern trousers (he flat-out refused to wear shorts) highlights the ass she didn’t know he had.

“Damn long coat always blocking my view,” she mutters as she sets the pieces in place.

“Need an opponent?” an older man asks.

Abbie looks up. “No, I’ve got one, thanks. He’s just getting us some coffee,” she answers, nodding in Crane’s direction.

The man looks over and sees Crane walking towards them, cups in hand. “Looks like a tough competitor,” he assesses. “Show him no mercy, miss.”

“Oh, I definitely take no prisoners,” she replies with a grin. “I think we’re about even right now… hey Crane, what’s our record?”

“You are currently one game ahead at 24 victories to my 23, but I intend to both even the score and pull into the lead this afternoon,” he answers. “Good afternoon, sir,” he greets the man with a nod.

“Hello there,” the man replies. “Good luck,” he adds, then walks away to go peruse the other games.

“It seems you attract all sorts of attention,” Crane comments. He sits and hands Abbie her cup.

“Mmm, thanks,” she says, taking a sip. It is only then she realizes she never told him what she wanted. He knew. She blankly stares a minute, then sets her cup down. “All right. I think it’s your turn to make the first move.”

People mill about while they play, some just passing by, others pausing to watch for a few minutes. Then Abbie notices a woman watching _them_ , not their game. She’s trying to be surreptitious about it, but not doing a very good job.

Finally, Abbie looks over at her catches her eye. The woman blushes and says, “I’m sorry for staring, but you two are just… a really attractive couple.” Then she adds, “I’m an artist – a photographer – so I just notice these things.” She reaches down beside her seat and holds up her camera bag, as if she thinks she needs to prove her point.

“Oh. Um. Thank you,” Abbie answers, and Crane nods in acknowledgment of the compliment. Then she turns her attention to the board, contemplating her next move.

“May I ask a question?” Crane softly inquires.

“You just did,” she points out.

He huffs. “That has happened to us several times since we have been on this trip, and you have never corrected anyone,” he says.

“That’s not a question,” she replies, basically to rankle him.

“Miss Mills…”

She moves her piece, then looks up at him. “What’s the point in making people feel stupid? We’ll never see any of these people again, so what does it matter if they think we’re together?”

He tilts his head in acquiescence to her point. “Fair enough. Your new friend the photographer is heading this way with her camera,” he says, then reaches for a piece, his hand hovering over the board, fingers wiggling, until he fully commits to his move.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry to interrupt, but would you mind if I took a few shots of the two of you? You don’t need to pose or anything, just keep on playing and ignore me,” she says, speaking in the rapid speech of someone who is nervous about asking a question.

Abbie looks at Crane, who is still pondering his move. “One second,” she says. “He’ll make up his mind in 3… 2… aha.”

He moves his piece, then glowers at her. “You are not amusing,” he says.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” she replies with a grin. “Do you have a problem with…?” She looks up at the young photographer.

“Fernanda,” the woman supplies.

“Fernanda here taking some pictures of us while we play?”

“I’ll send you copies for free,” she offers.

“I have no issue with it if you do not,” he answers.

Abbie shrugs. “Go for it,” she says, then quickly makes her move, capturing one of his pieces.

“What the…?” he exclaims, leaning forward. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, his frown deepening.

xXx

The rain stops during their third game, which they had to play as a tie-breaker for the series. Fernanda got the shots she wanted, thanked them, took Abbie’s card (“Whoa! You work for the FBI??”) and left them in peace at some point during their second game.

They decide to take a walk outside after Abbie claims another victory, extending lead over Crane, their total now 26-24.

“I was distracted,” Crane insists. “Miss Fernanda was hovering.”

“She wasn’t there at all for our third game,” Abbie points out.

“Even so, she—” His words are cut off by a sudden downpour. “This way,” he tugs her hand and pulls her under a nearby canopy, which is sheltering one of the double hammocks around the resort.

“That came out of nowhere,” Abbie says. “At least it’s warm out though.” She looks at the hammock. “We may as well sit.”

“What, there?” he asks. “Together?” he adds.

“Crane, we’ve been sharing a bed all week,” she points out, tugging him over. “You first.”

He obediently sits, then turns to lie in the hammock. “Oh, this is quite comfortable,” he says.

As soon as she is in the hammock, she realizes the only place she can lie is  _right_ next to him, pressed close to his side by the curve of the hammock. “Well, this is… cozy,” she says. “I feel like a sardine.”

“Here,” he says, then lifts his arm to allow her to rest her head on his shoulder. “Better?”

“Yes.”

They lie quietly for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, each struggling with their own desires. Finally, Crane speaks.

“Miss Mills, I must say that this has decidedly been the best Christmas I have ever had in my long, strange life.”

“Mmm, I think I’d have to agree with you there,” she agrees, reflexively cuddling closer to him.

“However, there is one thing that will make it completely perfect,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone that makes her look up, intrigued.

He gently hooks his fingers under her chin and lifts her face to his in a kiss.

Unlike the chaste kiss she gave him yesterday, this is a kiss full of emotion and longing. He cautiously but deliberately pours all of his long-denied love for her into this kiss.

When they finally part, he watches her face very carefully, still a little fearful of her reaction to his silent confession. He knows her tendency toward self-preservation when it comes to her emotions. And he certainly understands it – and her – better than Reynolds ever did.

Her large brown eyes gradually open as wide as saucers. Her lips part to allow her to attempt to draw in the air that seems to have abandoned her. Finally, she blinks, and says, “Oh, I think you can do better than that, Captain.”

Crane’s gasp is almost imperceptible and he recovers quickly, but Abbie notices it, already curling her fingers into his shirt and pulling herself higher as his eyebrow smugly quirks upward. “Is that a challenge, Lieutenant?” he asks, but seals his lips over hers before she can answer.

She pointedly sucks on his lower lip, encouraging him until he groans and opens his mouth, his tongue sliding against hers as his hands slide across her back, pulling her over him.

Her hand moves up, her fingers caressing his beard, drawing another groan from him. Then she hears a moan, and realizes it came from her throat.

Abbie lifts her head and gazes down at him, loving his passion-glazed expression. “Should we make a break for it?” she asks, looking over at the rain. It’s about 50 yards to the nearest door.

Crane places another searing kiss on her lips, then hoarsely agrees, “Yes.”

“You’re going to have to help me here,” she says. He gently assists her to roll off of him and supports her so she can sit up and swing her legs over the side of the hammock. Then she turns around and helps him, pulling him up by both of his hands.

Before she can release him, he tugs her closer once more and kisses her. “I love you,” he whispers to her, his lips hovering over hers. “I have loved you for so long I can scarcely remember a time when I did not.”

“I know,” she whispers, kissing him.

“And that is saying something for a man with an eidetic memory,” he adds, nuzzling her nose with his.

She leans back. “Did you just make a joke?” she asks. His lips and eyebrow both twitch, and he looks so smugly adorable she has to kiss him again.

“Mmm, let’s go,” he rumbles, then drags his fingers down her arm to take her hand before tugging her through the rain to the door.

They huddle under the slight overhang, briefly fumbling with their key to open the door. Once inside, they hurry up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

When they reach their floor, they see housekeepers with carts and suffer a brief moment of panic, wondering if they will be able to get into their room. Luckily, their room has been tended, but they still hang the “Do Not Disturb” on the knob before shutting the door and pulling their feet out of their wet shoes.

“Don’t move,” he says, then kisses her once before ducking into the bathroom for a towel. He returns and begins gently drying her off, even taking great care to properly dry her hair, carefully squeezing sections of it in the towel instead of rubbing.

Once Abbie is mostly dry, he begins to hastily rub the damp towel over himself, obviously caring very little about his own needs. Seeing this, she reaches up and places her hands over his.

“Ichabod,” she says, and he stops. She pries the towel from his grasp and takes it back into the bathroom, emerging with a fresh towel. Without a word, she treats him with the same care he just showed her. He stares down at her, transfixed and a little surprised.

“Thank you,” he quietly says.

“You too,” she replies. She tosses the towel into the bathroom, then places her palms against his chest. “You said you love me.”

“I did, and I do,” he responds, lifting one of her hands to his lips. “And I fully realize you may not feel the s—”

“I love you, too,” she quickly interjects, closing her eyes, then looking up at him. “It’s… not an easy thing for me to admit, but I do. I love you more than I can understand.”

He kisses her hand again, then murmurs, “I know, Lieutenant.”

Grateful she doesn’t have to explain to him why it’s hard for her to admit and why he shouldn’t take it personally, she wraps her arms around him and hugs him tightly.

“You forget I know you as well as I know myself, Abbie,” he says, his arms around her. He kisses her hair, then rests his cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s confusing to both want and fear something with the same desperation,” she whispers, then turns her head to kiss his neck.

He cups her face in his hands, looks into her eyes, and says, “Abbie. I  _know_ .” Then he kisses her, reinforcing his words with his actions. As soon as her hands slide under the hem of his shirt, he pulls back. “Are you certain?” he breathlessly asks.

“Yes,” she answers, shoving his shirt up until he takes over and whips it off over his head. Her bare hands on his chest makes him gasp and close his eyes, and when she tenderly runs her fingers over the large scar on his chest, he groans her name.

So she kisses it.

He swiftly scoops her up, his hands guiding her legs around his waist before settling on her backside. Then he carries her to the bed, kissing her all the while.

They collapse on the bed, Abbie haphazardly atop Crane, their kisses growing more urgent, their hands growing bolder.

His fingers worm their way under her tank top and find her skin, prompting her to sit up and remove the garment.

“Oh, God, Lieutenant,” he groans, his eyes unable to move from her chest. He was expecting to be presented with a bra, not her gloriously bare breasts with the amethyst pendant suspended just above them.

“Built-in bra,” she absently explains, then, seeing his focus, guides his head forward. His lips find their target, tongue flicking against her nipple, and she hums in approval, straddling his lap on the bed.

Her fingers slide into his hair, relishing the feel of his soft waves, still slightly damp, cool against her skin.

As he kisses across to her other breast, he suddenly stops and looks up at her. “Abbie?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have… er… protection? I understand that in this day and age, it is commonplace for even committed partners to-mmm…”

She kisses him to stop his rambling. “It’s fine,” she softly informs. “Neither one of us has any diseases and you won’t get me pregnant.”

“Ah,” he replies, completely trusting her. Much as he would love a second chance at fatherhood, particularly with her, he knows that the middle of a seven-year apocalyptic battle is not the time. And he has been living in this century long enough to know about the various forms of birth control available to women. He kisses her. “Good,” he adds. “I mean, good that-mmm…”

“I know what you meant,” she says, then pushes him back onto the bed. She trails her fingers down his chest and over his stomach until she reaches his waistband. He intently watches her as she opens his pants, feeling happily, deliriously helpless beneath her. All he can do is lift his hips to allow her to remove his trousers, and he does so eagerly.

His pants hit the floor, but before she can return to the bed for his underwear, he sits up, his fingers immediately finding the button on her shorts. He leans forward and kisses her stomach, and she threads her fingers into his hair again, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. She feels her shorts being eased over her hips, then drop to the floor. She steps out of them and his hands move around to her rear.

“These _thong_ panties have plagued me for months,” he admits, moving his hands over her bare cheeks until his fingers catch the edge of them.

“Oh really?” she asks, turning around to give him the back view before he is able to remove the skimpy garment.

“God’s wounds,” he gasps. “Those are… quite… impractical…”

She turns around to face him. “Impractical?” she asks, trying not to laugh. “That’s the best you got?”

“Certainly not,” he retorts, attempting to rally, but it is quite difficult to form coherent thought with a mostly-naked Abigail Mills standing before him. “You have, without question, the finest looking…”

“Double jugs?” she asks, stepping closer, letting his hands roam where they will.

“Yes,” he rumbles, then moves his hands back down to squeeze them. “You are truly a vision, Abbie,” he says, resuming his previous activities of kissing her wherever he can reach. “Your outer beauty is matched by your inner beauty,” he trails kisses over her breasts while his fingers catch the edge of her panties, “your brave, valiant spirit,” he pulls the garment down over her strong, shapely legs, “your kindness, and wisdom.” He gently pulls a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until she moans. “I can only hope to one day be worthy of your love,” he finishes, resting his head against her chest.

“You are,” she whispers, guiding his face to look up at him. “You are definitely worthy,” she reassures him with a kiss. “The way you strive to take care of me,” she begins pushing him back on the bed, crawling over him, “even though I resist,” she kisses him again, then scoots back, placing a kiss on his flat stomach before tracing the edge of his boxer briefs with her fingers, “and occasionally push you away or shut you out… You treat me better than I deserve.”

“I treat you exactly how you deserve,” he argues. “You are… oh…” His words die when his underwear hits the floor and her hand slides over his length.

“We can argue about which one of us is worse later, Ichabod,” she says, wrapping her fingers around him. “Damn,” she whispers. Her small fingers don’t quite reach all the way around. She knew he was packing, but until now it had always been a rather abstract concept. She strokes him a few times, straddling his thighs.

“Come here,” he entreats, reaching for her.

She leans forward, stretching out over him. He deeply kisses her, then he pulls her higher so he can reach her breasts with his mouth again.

“Oh…” she sighs. His hand grips her thigh, moves higher, then lower, then around to her ass, then back to her thigh again. She grabs it and guides it where she wants it.

He groans once more when his fingers slide against her center. She is slick with wanting him, and he nearly loses control at the thought.

“Abbie,” he rasps, his fingers easily finding the right spot to make her moan. He circles until she whimpers, then moves his hand, slipping one, then two fingers inside, curving them just so as he moves them until he finds another spot.

“Unnhh…” she moans, dropping her head down, barely able to hold herself up anymore. “Crane… Ichabod…”

“Yes,” he agrees, then begins to flip them over.

She stops him, raising her eyebrow at him. “You stay right there,” she says.

“You are determined to be my undoing, Lieutenant,” he replies, his voice a low rumble.

She moves down, runs her hand long his shaft a few times, then lifts him into her hand. She rises up, slotting him into place, then slowly eases down over him.

“Oh… Abbie…” His head is thrown back, eyes closed, nearly overcome with the feel of her surrounding him, of joining with her.

“Mmm,” she agrees, arching her back as she adjusts to the fullness of him filling her. She was a little worried he would be too big, especially considering how long it has been since she’s done this with anyone other than her vibrator. She fleetingly wonders if he and Katrina ever did anything when she was here, but the thought is gone as quickly as it arrived.

Abbie begins to move, rocking her hips, moving up and down over Crane, whose eyes are now open and staring, transfixed. His hands come up, skimming over her hips and stomach to close over her breasts. She presses them into his hands, then drops forward, needing to kiss him.

He murmurs between kisses, calling her all manner of endearments in a multitude of languages. His soft voice in her ear adds another layer of sensation, and she begins to spiral.

“Oh… oh, yes…” she gasps, moving faster, harder. He matches her movements, long fingers digging into her hips.

He lifts his head and places a sucking kiss on the side of her neck, and she unravels with a wordless cry, momentarily losing her rhythm until the wave passes.

He follows almost immediately, his whole body surging and tensing beneath hers. He growls deep and low in his throat, then sighs.

Abbie collapses onto Crane and he lets one arm flop across her back. They lie in a boneless heap for a few minutes.

“I do love you so, so very much,” he finally says.

She kisses his chest. “I love you too,” she answers. “More than I thought myself capable.” She slides off of him and tucks herself against his side. “I’m sorry it took me so long to… stop denying it.”

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. “I am sorry I was not brave enough to confess my feelings sooner.”

“I wouldn’t have been ready,” she says.

“Probably not,” he agrees. “Ow!” he yelps after her answering slap to his chest. He snatches her fingers, gently bites them in mock reproach, then kisses them.

“When you got back from the Catacombs,” she guesses. “The _first_ time.”

“Yes. I ‘chickened out’, as they say,” he confesses, still toying with her fingers. “I told myself it was because I did not wish to have an audience, even if it was only Miss Jenny and Master Corbin, but in truth, I was a coward and instead chose to make a ridiculous remark about chess.”

“That was a really lame recovery,” she says, chuckling.

“I know,” he agrees. “I do not have the Mills gift of fabrication.”

“You’re too honest,” she says, sitting up. “But that’s something else I love about you,” she adds, kissing him.

She begins to move away, but he holds her close, keeping her there, taking control of the kiss. Letting her know he isn’t finished with her yet.

“Crane…” she manages between kisses. “Already? Oh!” She finds herself on her back with him settling between her thighs.

“Already,” he confirms, pressing his hips against her to prove his point.

“Damn, man,” she says, her lips curling into a sly smile as she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“Well,” he informs, gently nipping her lower lip, “it has been 235 years,” he pauses again, entering her with a soft grunt, “three months, and… mmm… eleven days since I… last engaged in… this sort of activity.”

“Oh…” Abbie isn’t able to formulate a response, but it does register that he just answered her question about Katrina and himself.

“That is not to say I never… you know… on my own,” Crane confesses, answering the next question in her mind about his impressive prowess after such a long break. He kisses her deeply, moving slowly and steadily, then adds, “Always while thinking of you, my heart.”

“Eidetic mem… oh, do that again,” she gasps, grabbing a handful of his hair.

He complies, moving his hips exactly the same way again, and is rewarded with a soft curse word falling from her lips.

She falls faster this time, reaching her climax less than 30 seconds later, this time hoarsely shouting his name as she arches beneath him.

Another 30 seconds go by before he drives in deep, flooding into her once more with another soft, low growl.

He kisses her with surprising sweetness, then flops to the side. He opens his eyes, lets his head flop to the side to look at her, and says with a smile, “Happy Christmas, my dearest Lieutenant.”

She scoots over and kisses him. “Merry Christmas, Crane.”


End file.
